


Drawn (from Another Time, Another Place)

by sweetiejelly



Category: As the World Turns, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Reincarnation, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a boy in his flat. A boy who a second ago was behind the screen of Merlin's laptop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawn (from Another Time, Another Place)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frances_veritas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frances_veritas/gifts).



> Moey - sorry this redo took forever and ever. But it's finally done, yay! I also maybe added in a small addition at the end ;)
> 
> The title and some of the inspiration came from this, which Ella linked me to a long time ago: <http://soulpancake.tumblr.com/post/48134868725/fluttermee-i-am-lost-without-you>. Thanks again, Ella!

The problem with legends is that they’re only half true. For instance, true - there was a great wizard named Merlin, advisor to King Arthur. False – once upon a time. 

~~ 

_Whoosh._

There's a boy in his flat. A boy who a second ago was behind the screen of Merlin's laptop. This isn’t supposed to happen! Merlin knows the extent of his magic by now. 

Or, well, he thought he knew. 

He pinches the air quick before the boy could say a word (and boy, could this one say words!) and poof! Back to TV-land the boy goes, back to Oakdale, Illinois. 

~~ 

The a/c is acting up again, the vents whistling a _who-who_ like it’s Halloween and not late summer. 

But Halloween it may as well be, because Luke’s not sure how else to explain the sudden pinch on his wrist, these nail-sized dents half mooned on his skin like they’re freshly made. 

He shifts, shaking it off, and tries to follow the PowerPoint slide up on the screen. It’s all numbers though, and some of them not even real, just _projections_. Luke loves his Foundation, he does. He would do anything for it, but these fiscal meetings? He really should have said no. 

He lets his thoughts drift. _Coffee_. Coffee would be good right about now. He drums his fingers on the desk. _Java_. He should stop by Java later to pick up a cup. _Noah_. Luke bites his lip. 

One of the last things he said to Noah, his ex, was that so much reminded him of Reid, his newer ex (which is the truth). 

Also the truth is that so much _more_ reminds him of Noah. (This he did not say.) 

He thinks maybe he should say it. Maybe. Noah did invite him to visit. Luke could do that, borrow Lucinda’s jet and go, fly out to L.A. It’d beat going over quarterly reports, that’s for sure. 

He touches his pen to his lips and slips into a daydream - of hands, of vivid tans and sprawling veins, bendy, bendy digits: Noah’s hands, hands that held his time and time again, that held him. 

Luke could feel them (just about), the weight and warmth of them settling across his back. Then his thoughts – 

dive, chasing Noah’s hands down, down, down. 

~~ 

Down into the gutter the rain sloshes. Merlin could do without a deluge. But this is England. What is England without a little rain? Besides, Arthur is staying over tonight (like he has been more and more this past month). 

Arthur's thighs are warm, a right furnace. Merlin can’t help but gravitate, tucking his feet underneath, earning himself a glare. 

He grins, impish, and Arthur rolls his eyes, wraps a hand around a cold ankle, and rubs. Arthur really is the best. Merlin hums contently as he continues clicking around on YouTube. 

This isn't quite what he wants to do tonight. (He wants to hold Arthur tight and ascertain over and over that his king is back, that he's real, that he's alive again.) The years though, they've taught Merlin that people look at him funny when he clings too hard. 

So he doesn't cling, simply appreciates from his end of the sofa the fact that Arthur feels at home enough in his flat to relax, to lean his head back as he reads. 

"What are you doing?" Arthur turns a page of his footie magazine, the one that Merlin subscribed to after finding Arthur at the park kicking a football six months ago. 

"Nothing." Merlin says a little too quickly. 

Arthur slides him a look. "The usual, then?" 

It hits Merlin hard sometimes how this incarnation of Arthur sounds just like the old one. That tone! 

"Prat." Merlin pokes him with his toes, lightly, so lightly that it does not at all warrant Arthur throwing his whole weight down as if they're in a wrestling match. 

Only, now they are. Wrestling, that is. Arthur's hands are as strong as when they held a sword. Merlin is faster though. Still is after all this time. He ducks and Arthur pursues. Arms get pinned, then legs - pinned, unpinned, and wrapped around. Tickle spots are found. 

_Thump!_ Merlin's laptop settles at a funny angle on the floor. 

He turns sharply. "You better not have broken my baby!" 

“Relax,” Arthur grins down at him. "Aithusa is perfectly fine. If anything has a harder skull-" 

"His name would be Arthur!" 

Arthur glares at him, mostly for form's sake, before shutting him up in his new favourite way. "Shut up, _Mer_ lin," he prefaces anyway. 

(Merlin will never admit it, but how he missed that phrase when Arthur was gone! He sat by the lake often enough in the early days, talking and talking till words churned to salt, and still no "shut up, Merlin" came from the depths.) 

Arthur kisses now not like he's dying or will die or well, died, but like he's learning to live. He explores the side of Merlin's neck like it's the Great Wall, a long and sinuous path to explore. He kisses the apples of Merlin's cheeks like they are Taj Mahals gleaming in the sun. He kisses Merlin's lips like maybe Merlin is the wonder and not him, the fact that he's back at all. 

Merlin responds in the only way he knows – with all of the clinginess he's got bottled up tight, all of his years of yearning, and all of his love. Arthur is back. 

~~ 

Being back at his parents’ place means that Luke passes by the bottles of decanters every so often. 

“And how does that make you feel?” 

Luke shifts in his couch seat, already irritated because of how uncomfortable the leather is and how blandly off-white the walls are, not to mention how repetitive the questions get. Maybe therapy is a mistake. It’s not like he has touched the drinks, not really. 

“Thirsty. I don’t know. It’s there and Reid,” – he doesn’t mention Noah, isn’t ready to – “isn’t.” 

What he has isn’t quite an addiction. It’s more like an ex-addiction. And fuck no, he doesn’t know how that makes him feel. 

~~ 

Merlin can’t stop thinking about it, about how Luke materialised out of the screen real as can be. Merlin’s magic has always been more organic, elemental. It’s been quite useless with technology. At least up till now, till the Luke incident. 

He puts it down to research really, the fact that he needs to try the trick again. He knows just the scene he wants to use as well: an early one that made him want to tear his hair out – that time when Noah legally but really pretend-married his probable long-lost half-sister so she could stay in the country. 

Merlin has to vent. 

“Do you know how _long_ some people wait for a love like you have with Luke?” 

Noah’s eyes dart around the flat, no doubt checking for exits. His expression is subdued compared to Luke’s. Still, he looks like a deer in headlights, frozen in surprise. 

“How-? Where am I? Who are you? Did the Colonel put you up to this? Am I kidnapped again?” 

o Merlin rolls his eyes. Really, soap operas! “The question is what are _you_ doing holding Luke at twenty paces? Do you even know what you’re doing to him?” 

Noah really looks at him then, taken aback and affronted all at once. “But he-” 

“-told you he’s okay with this, yes. He’s a cabbagehead, too!” Merlin huffs. “Forget the bloody I.C.E., all right? Luke is hiding his true self and do you know what that does to a man to hide his true self? Stupid question. Of course you do. Look at you!” 

“Um.” Noah's throat works in a bobble as he takes a step back. “No offense, but if I’m not being kidnapped, then I’m going to just… go.” 

“Yes, fine, dismissed.” Merlin sighs. “Just think about it, yeah? Think about what you’re doing to the both of you.” 

Noah looks at him solemnly, a familiar frown creasing his brows. 

~~ 

“Merlin!” Arthur says in this what-in-the-world tone of his the one time he runs into Luke and Noah in Merlin’s flat. It’s midday and really, Merlin cannot be blamed for not expecting Arthur there when Arthur is supposed to be in class. 

Merlin pushes him, takeout bags and all, firmly into the bedroom. “Don’t spook them! They’re almost there.” 

Arthur fixes him with a stern look. “Start from the top.” 

“From the top, eh?” Merlin’s eyes twinkle as he smirks. Riling Arthur up this way is something new, something thrilling. Arthur’s eyes darken, and Merlin knows he’s thinking of last night too. 

“I…” Arthur sets the bags down and clears his throat. “You can’t just bring around strangers and not expect me to ask questions! Merlin, I thought we’re– Are we not-?” 

Arthur’s aborted speech gives Merlin pause. “Arthur?” He dips his head to look Arthur in the eyes. “Are we not what?” 

Arthur squares his chin. “I love you,” he says. 

And Merlin feels the words all the way down to where he’s stashed the last ‘thank you’ from his king. “I love you, too.” 

“You don’t – you don’t _need_ other people, do you?” Arthur eyes the knob on the door like he’s trying to see beyond the wood and into the front room. 

“Need other people?” Merlin parrots dumbly. 

Arthur only blushes a deeper hue and makes a vague hand movement. “You know.” 

Merlin really doesn’t. 

Arthur makes an aggrieved sigh. “Foursome,” he forces out, voice small and cheeks red. 

Merlin’s torn between laughing and crying. Arthur saying the word ‘foursome’ is pretty priceless. Something of his mirth must show on his face. 

“Merlin!” Arthur squeezes the scruff of his neck a little like reprimanding a kitten. “Who are those people and why are they bloody here?” 

Merlin inclines his head. “Come see for yourself.” 

Out by the couch, Luke and Noah are no longer talking. They are, however, still firmly in each other’s personal space. More so really as their lips are engaged now (kissing) and their arms are vines wrapping around the other (stroking, gripping, cupping, squeezing), straddling somewhere between first and second base. 

_Finally._ Merlin thinks to himself. It’s way past time for a home run with those two. They look a perfect fit too. Adding in the hitch in their breaths, the way they sound so wrecked given just this – Merlin could watch them forever. 

Arthur though – Arthur isn’t used to this. Arthur clears his throat loudly, making the boys jump apart. But not very far apart. And Luke looks more irritated than embarrassed as he shakes out his blond side bang, his hands still resting on the crooks of Noah’s elbows. 

Arthur looks to him and Merlin gives in to the silent plea. Luke and Noah could be pretty intense, he knows. 

“Ta!” He pinches his fingers quick and Luke and Noah disappear together in a blink. 

Arthur strides over to where they just were. “Did you- Merlin, did you _kill_ them? Because that was not at all what I was asking!” 

Merlin sighs. Arthur could give the soaps a run for the drama sometimes. “Look, that’s them.” He points to a YouTube video where he has frozen a scene of them looking longingly across the screen at each other. 

“That’s them?” 

“Yes.” 

“They’re not dead.” 

“No.” 

“They’re actors?” 

“Characters,” Merlin explains, “from an American soap opera.” 

Arthur stares intensely at the screen. “And they just sit around a diner and stare forlornly at each other?” 

“Only sometimes. Here,” Merlin plops his laptop on Arthur’s lap. “Their story starts here.” 

“I’m not going to watch a-a soap, _Mer_ lin!” 

“Very well. Then watch this,” Merlin opens a [bookmark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVsX9RnoHGk). “It’s their first kiss. If you don’t want to watch anymore after that, then don’t.” 

Arthur huffs. “I don’t need to watch them kiss. I just watched them kiss! Right here!” 

“Hmm.” Merlin goes back to the bedroom to retrieve the takeout bags. “I’m going to heat up the food.” He leaves Arthur to his own on the sofa. After all, he knows a curious Arthur face when he sees it. 

Sure enough, as Merlin sets the noodles to warm in the microwave, he hears the video start. 

~~ 

_That’s it? That’s the end?_

It’s four weeks later when Arthur texts him in the middle of the afternoon just as Merlin puts on a pot of tea. 

Merlin doesn’t have to ask what Arthur is referring to. They have been talking about the soap in great lengths, about the military and about callings (soldiers and destinies). 

Arthur doesn’t remember his previous life. Not yet. He doesn’t remember Merlin. He thinks Merlin is a young artist who specialises in drawing dragons and sometimes the odd footballer or two. 

But Arthur is twenty and Merlin is in no hurry. Not really. Not especially since sometimes it appears Arthur has an inkling. “There’s something about you, Merlin,” he’d say as he tucks a wayward curl behind Merlin’s ear. 

Merlin takes it all in, this new tenderness Arthur has with him. It’s not what he had with his king, but it’s not unfamiliar either. 

_Can you bring them back? Make them fix it?_

Merlin stares at the text and shakes his head fondly. 

_I can’t *make* them do anything. They’re not puppets._

Twenty minutes later, Arthur lets himself in with his key. “What do you mean they’re not puppets? They’re bloody soap characters!” 

Discreetly, Merlin closes a tab and blinks. “Erm?” 

“Come now, Merlin. Don’t play coy. You’re a powerful mage. I saw them. _Here_. In your flat. Can’t you – can’t you bring them back? Say, in a year’s time from the end? I want-I’d like-” 

“To check up on them like a creeper?” 

Arthur glares at him. “The term is ‘fan.’ And don’t _you_ want to know?” He narrows his eyes. “You _do_ know!” 

Merlin does in fact. He has brought Luke and Noah out of the screen numerous times during and in between scenes. Bringing them out after the last scene seemed the next logical step in his research. 

“Do you want Halloween or Thanksgiving? Personally, I prefer the latter.” 

~~ 

Pumpkin spice latte. Luke takes a deep breath in followed by a greedy sip. God, there’s nothing like it. He fusses with his scarf as he leans back on the bench. There’s something a little off about it – the bench, like the paint is a little too even or the legs an inch too short. Luke shakes his head. Everything is probably fine. _He’s_ just missing something. 

Someone. 

As if summoned, Noah appears around the bend from Java. He looks taller than Luke remembers, more solid. 

“Luke.” Noah comes to a stop. 

Luke’s mind goes blank, benches and other oddities forgotten. Noah’s here (saying his name like that and looking at him like that). 

“Noah!” He pushes to his feet as he returns the smile, goes in for a hug, cup and all. It’s been a month since his trip to L.A., a month since he’s tucked his chin on Noah’s shoulder. 

The film project is coming along, that much he knows. There seems to be new footage every week that lights up Noah’s face to talk about. 

Luke loves technology, loves Skype, but even Skype has nothing on reality. Nothing on the way Noah’s arms come around him and squeeze. 

“So,” Luke laughs a little, can’t help it. “I didn’t think you were going to make it back. What with uh, what with your last scene to shoot and everything.” 

“It’s done!” Noah throws up his hands, eyes as happy as Luke’s ever seen them. “And it’s Thanksgiving and,” he shrugs, looking down at his shoes before looking up at Luke under his lashes. “I wanted to see how you were doing, how your script’s going. I know it’s going to be amazing.” 

Luke nods and nods. Right. His script. He’s still on scene two. “Good, I’m good,” he replies on auto-pilot. “And the script- script’s fine. It’s going, you know.” 

Noah looks at him kindly, the way he has, seeing too much, and doesn’t pry. He takes a seat. 

Luke sits too and fidgets. “Want some coffee?” 

Noah quirks his mouth up at that. “You sure you’re okay? You’re voluntarily giving away coffee.” 

“Shut up! I share.” Luke mock pushes his shoulder and thrusts the coffee under his nose. So, well, it isn’t true. He doesn’t share. Not his coffee. But this is Noah, and the way Noah drinks coffee – wet-lipped and long-necked – well, Luke isn’t going to pass up the visual. 

“Nat said you’re going to therapy.” Noah hands the cup back. 

Luke clutches it to his chest. So this is why Noah is here. Damn (bless) his sister. “I am,” he admits. “I kind of hate it?" He scratches at the cup with a nail. “But I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol, so there’s that.” 

“That’s a lot.” Noah looks at him earnestly. Noah always looked at him earnestly. It’s his undoing. 

Luke ducks his head. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t-” 

Luke reaches over and closes his hand over Noah’s. “Thanks,” he says more emphatically, “for being a reason for me to stay sober. I want to-I want to see your films, Noah. And I want to write scripts for you. I wanna go to your premieres and say, hey, check it out – that’s my Noah.” 

Noah covers Luke’s cold hand with his other hand, playing with the bends of his fingers the way they’ve always done, warm, comforting, and something else. “I'm-I’m still your Noah?” 

“Always.” Luke tugs his watch out of his pocket. The watch that Noah gave him years ago with ‘worth the wait’ engraved on it. 

Noah looks at it, his throat working, and then looks at Luke. 

Their lean into the kiss feels predestined, right. Noah tastes of clean skin and sweet coffee, light wax of chapstick and cold snap of air. Underneath it all, he tastes warm, like memories past, promises future. 

“You want to come out to the farm and see everyone?” Luke manages to ask when he manages to pull away. 

Noah’s smile pushes out his cheeks so much Luke wants to pinch them. “Is Mrs. Snyder still making her famous sweet potatoes?” 

“Duh, of course!” 

“Then let’s go.” Noah holds out his hand and Luke slots his fingers neatly in. 

~~ 

Arthur makes Merlin bring Luke and Noah back five years after that and then twenty. 

And then fifty. _Then_ he’s finally satisfied. 

“Some happy endings are so hard earned, aren’t they?” 

Merlin bites his tongue. Really hard. 

“That’s life,” he manages to say. 

“Maybe.” Arthur looks at him, something hot in his eyes like he’s the one about to flash golden and do magic. 

Before Merlin could ask, Arthur's hauling him in roughly by his arms and kissing him into the cushions until Merlin’s breathing like he’s Dragoon the Great again, elderly and hardly able to keep up. 

“What?” He laughs, barely gets the word out before Arthur’s pressing in again, lips demanding, hips demanding, everything demanding. Arthur pins Merlin’s arms up over the arm of the sofa and Merlin stops trying to talk. He sucks on Arthur instead – lower lip, tongue, upper lip, tongue – until half their clothes are kicked off and Arthur’s ducking down, inhaling his neck like he’s trying to make the world’s most obnoxious hickey. 

Merlin urges him on, splays his legs and rolls his hips. 

Arthur bites down in counterpoint, just hard enough to sting and continues his wet suction down to collarbones. Down to sternum. Over to the sensitive buds of pink that’s been standing to attention since this all started. Arthur licks over one and then the other and looks up to check his work, all smug. Merlin doesn’t know how he looks to Arthur. He can only say Arthur looks perfect like this to him, eyes wild and hair askew. 

Arthur lowers his mouth again, sucking hard on a nipple, twisting the sharp shard of need straight through down to Merlin’s toes, making them curl. 

“God.” Merlin wants to bury his hands in Arthur’s hair, but his arms are still pinned and he can only make fists of them, digging nails into his palms and trying not to come. Not yet. 

When Arthur kisses down the vee of his hips, Merlin’s legs start to shake. Arthur only licks a little more attentively, ticklish and hot and utterly unbearable. 

“Please,” Merlin begs. 

Arthur looks up at him, kisses his thigh slow and thorough as you please, then his other thigh then, without any warning, licks a hot stripe up in between them. 

Merlin throws his head back, feeling light- light-headed. 

Arthur only sinks his mouth down, hot heat making it all worse, worse, oh, _the absolute worst_. 

He must slip off to sleep afterward because when he comes to, he’s in bed and Arthur’s spooned up behind him, soft breath even, fanning over the back of his neck. 

~~ 

“What’s this?” Merlin tries to tame the beating of his heart as he takes in the suitcases all around Arthur. It’s the day after and Arthur has come back after leaving rather early in the morning. “Going on a holiday?” He tries to joke. 

Arthur just wrings his hands and shuffles his feet in wholly un-Arthur-like behavior. “I told my father,” Arthur blurts. “About me. About us.” 

“Oh.” Merlin doesn’t know what that means in the least. He hasn’t met Arthur’s father in this life. He only knows that Arthur’s father has only known Arthur to date girls. “Did he kick you out?” Merlin opens the door wider to let Arthur in. 

Only Arthur’s not coming in. “No. He didn’t go that far.” 

“Are you kicking _me_ out?” Merlin grips the doorframe. It might make sense. Last night could have been goodbye. 

“No, you idiot.” Arthur levels him a look. “I want to live with you. I don’t want to leave to… I don’t want to leave.” 

Merlin breathes out, relief mingled with dazed disbelief. “I never wanted you to leave.” 

The line of Arthur’s shoulders relaxes. “Well? Can I come in?” 

“Now who’s being an idiot?” Merlin couldn’t help teasing. 

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur nudges past him with three bags, only to double back and kiss him hello. 

~~ 

“I don’t speak Japanese.” Arthur frowns as he looks at the screen. 

Merlin could only roll his eyes. Honestly, Arthur is such a prat sometimes. 

“Captions – guess what they’re for?” 

Arthur only frowns harder. “The captions could be wrong for all you know!” 

“Oh my god, Arthur!” Merlin swats the back of his head fondly. “There are plenty of Japanese speakers in the world, you know. I’m sure somebody would have bloody said something if they mucked up the translation. Just press play.” 

Arthur grumbles some more but does as he’s told. 

He emerges from the bedroom two hours later with, “They’re naked a lot.” 

Merlin almost jumps out of his skin as he slams his laptop closed. He didn’t hear Arthur coming up behind him, so caught up was he in his work. 

“What are you hiding?” Arthur looks at him with a gleam in his eyes. 

Merlin has a moment of panicked ‘uh-oh’ before he shoves Aithusa under and sits on it. “Nothing.” 

Arthur lifts his eyebrows but doesn’t push. “So, naked. Anime characters. Naked a lot.” 

“Half naked,” Merlin correct automatically. “And they’re swimmers. They have to be.” 

“Sure.” Arthur pours himself a glass of water. “I feel I’m a Haruka.” 

“What? _Haru_?” 

“Not in personality as such” – stoic monosyllabic certainly _isn’t_ Arthur – “but in how we’re both a little lost. So much is expected of us and we just… we just want to swim.” 

“You don’t like swimming,” Merlin points out. Sometimes he thinks it’s to do with how much time under water Arthur has already spent. (Not that Arthur remembers his maritime not-life.) 

“Not swimming itself! It’s a metaphor.” 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know! Football!” Arthur throws up a hand. “Father thinks I should try going pro or otherwise dismiss it out of hand.” 

“What do you want to do?” Merlin asks because with every day past, Kilgharrah’s words ring louder and louder in his ears. _In Albion’s greatest need, Arthur will rise again._

“Politics perhaps,” Arthur shrugs. “I want to make a difference. I don’t want to throw my life away in a boardroom arguing money and making deals. Katie can do that, take up the family business. She would probably do very well.” 

Merlin feels an old surge of pride for his king, his Arthur. “Sounds like a plan,” he says lightly as he gets up out of the room to make a pot of tea. 

When he steps back in, Arthur is holding Aithusa, whose lid is still closed. “I didn’t look,” Arthur assures him. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re incredibly talented, Merlin. Your arts – something about them always feel so real, personal. I would never laugh at them. I want you to know that.” He hands Aithusa over. 

Merlin takes it and swallows down his nerves. “It’s not – I _trust_ you, Arthur, probably more than I trust anyone. This is just -” 

“I trust you, too.” Arthur squeezes his hand. “There’s something about you, Merlin. Not just the magic, but if I were the soppy type I might say it’s as if my soul knew your soul a long time ago.” 

Merlin can’t help the way his heart trips over itself running in place so hard. Soul mates. Arthur just called them soul mates (and is looking incredibly embarrassed now, but _soul mates_ ). 

Something in Merlin breaks, beautiful and disastrous all at once. 

“Damn you, Pendragon.” He sets the laptop down and pushes up the screen. 

“Is that your latest?” Arthur crowds along his back as he inches in to get a good look. 

“Mm-hmm.” Merlin barely breathes for anticipating Arthur’s response. 

There’s a dragon. Of course there is. It’s his signature. In fact, there are two here – Kilgharrah and Aithusa. There’s a castle. There are knights in red capes, a king, a queen, a manservant, and an old physician. There’s a sorceress too, her black ringlets stark against her dragon’s white. 

“Merlin, this is…” Arthur zooms in to the king, the queen, and the manservant. “That looks like us.” 

Merlin holds his breath. “That _is_ us.” 

“That’s how you see me?” 

Merlin’s heart breaks a little. “What, as a prat?” 

“Royal,” Arthur counters. “And straight,” he tilts his head. “Though she is rather pretty.” 

“You’re bi, you git. Of course you’d marry a girl in those times.” 

Arthur shrugs. “Fair point. But why are you not over there riding the other dragon? You like dragons.” 

Merlin laughs, almost hysterical. He has ridden Kilgharrah. Many times in fact. “Maybe I wanted to be next to you.” 

Arthur crushes him tight to his chest and ruffles his hair. “You, Merlin, are a Makoto,” he says. 

“What?” Merlin squawks. 

“You’re not as freakishly tall, though granted you are a little taller than me. You’re hopelessly devoted to me as Makoto is to Haruka. You’re feeding that litter of kittens in the alleyway – don’t think I don’t know. You’re not boastful though you have much to boast about. And you’re kind.” 

“Not as kind as you think,” Merlin shakes his head, remembering Morgana and other failures from their other lifetime. 

“More than you give yourself credit for, then. You do put up with me.” 

Merlin snorts. Maybe Arthur will remember yet. “I _am_ very good at putting up with you.” 

“Well, what are you calling this piece?” 

Merlin doesn’t have to think about it. It was all he could think about for ages. “Camelot.” 

~~ 

Merlin draws Makoto and Haruka out of the screen just the once. Haru heads directly for the bathtub and Makoto’s blush is even more endearing in 3D. 

Arthur just shakes his head. 

Merlin thinks it’s to do with the language barrier – the captions alas, did not follow the boys out of the screen – but Arthur’s still looking troubled come diner time. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Arthur doesn’t answer him right away. “Are you happy, Merlin?” He asks when he’s swallowed his piece of sushi. 

Merlin laughs a little. He doesn’t even know how to tell Arthur how _much_ happier he is this century than so many of the ones past. “Happy enough. Why?” 

“You... bring people out of their time, their place.” Arthur says slowly, like he’s trying to get it right. “You draw dragons like they’re your kin. Sometimes I think you are _the_ Merlin trying to draw me out of my time because I look like your king did once.” 

Merlin couldn’t breathe for how right and how utterly wrong Arthur is all at once. “No,” he confesses. “You don’t _look_ like my king did once. You _were_ my king once.” 

Arthur doesn’t laugh at him, doesn’t do anything as he freezes. “What?” 

Merlin bites his lips. “Nothing.” 

“ _I_ was a king?” 

“Oh lord.” Merlin scrubs a hand over his face. “Now you’re going to be insufferable.” 

“I’m _Arthur_? _That_ Arthur?” 

Part of Merlin wants to take it all back, but he can’t, doesn’t want to. “Yes, sire,” he admits quietly. 

Arthur leans heavily back against his seat as he thinks it over. “How much did history get us wrong?” 

Merlin smiles at that. Of course that would be Arthur’s first question. “Where do I start?” 

“But if you remember, why don’t I?” 

Merlin expects the questions, answers all of them the best he could. The last though he didn’t expect. 

“All this time then – you experimenting, drawing characters out from footage – are you preparing for when I’m gone again?” 

Merlin can’t breathe for how it makes him feel to think of Arthur gone again. “Not a bad idea.” 

“ _Mer_ lin.” Arthur shakes him a little. “Look, you do what you have to do, but I am here now.” 

Merlin nods. “I know, you clotpole. It only took you centuries.” 

Arthur leans in, cups his face, and presses their foreheads together. “If I had magic, I’d have come back sooner.” 

Merlin could barely laugh for how much he wants to cry. “I know.” 

~~ 

Arthur doesn’t regain his memories. He does, however, gift Merlin with video equipment. “Film me,” he says, when Merlin just stares slack jawed. “Film me so you can draw me back. You have my permission.” 

Merlin doesn’t cry but it’s a near thing. “I don’t know how to operate this.” 

They look at each other and the idea hits them simultaneously. “Noah.” 

~~ 

Noah not only teaches them how to use the video cameras, he also shot footage of them in the park with their friends, and in a tea shop with Arthur's sister Katie. The backstroke they learn from Makoto, who giggles and points to the sky and mimes flapping his arms backwards. How to quote Shakespeare like they were born to do it they learn from Sam and Glenn. 

They learn a lot about each other too – like how much Arthur fidgets when he’s nervous. After all, he runs his fingers over and over his own ring before he presents Merlin with his. “It’s engraved,” he says. 

“Don’t tell me it’s ‘worth the wait’?” 

Arthur rolls his eyes, which Merlin is pretty sure one shouldn’t roll his eyes whilst proposing. “I should hope it’s worth the wait, _Mer_ lin. Just look.” 

Merlin looks. Inside the band is a dragon in the shape of a crown. _From any time, to any place_ , it says. 

(Merlin says yes.) 

For his part, Arthur learns that Merlin speaks almost every language in the world and yet gets tongue-tied at his own wedding. 

Katie, who's been toasting them, just laughs sweetly and continues. “To the man who makes my baby brother a better man!” 

(Merlin cries.  
And to be honest, Arthur got a little misty too.) 

~~ 

And so, as legend goes, Merlin serves Arthur as his advisor. What legend doesn’t know is that Merlin will do so until the day he dies, as he pledged once, as he pledges yet again. It's what soul mates do. 


End file.
